


Amends

by solesism



Category: A Midsummer Night's Dream - All Media Types
Genre: Kinda?, Modern AU, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 22:32:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9518819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solesism/pseuds/solesism
Summary: This was how it worked; whatever agreement they had managed to come up with: six months with Titania in Fairyland and six months in the mortal world with him. Usually Puck came searching, sometimes not. Sometimes he missed seasons in a row, and sometimes he didn’t miss a day for decades.





	

Puck, fine-boned and sticky against his chest, shifts and mumbles himself awake. He stretches and curls back into Oberon’s side with half-closed cat eyes, all languid limbs and sharp shoulder blades. His delicate wrists catch the sunlight as he stretches his arms up.

“There’s no need to look so smug.” Oberon says, but he softens it by running his fingers through Puck’s hair.

“If I’m smug, my lord, it’s only because you forgot your own name.”

Oberon nudges Puck away and sits up. “Why would I need to know my own name when I have you to remind me?”

“If I served to remind you of your name, you’d go by my lord.”

“I’m only the lord of you, though.”

“And Titania.” Puck follows him out of bed, long, bony feet silent. “And who’s to say you’re the only lord of me?”

Oberon hangs back and watches Puck get dressed, the way the knobs of his spine create small shadows in the sunrise, his narrow shoulders holding the shirt that covers his slim hips and white thighs. Puck clambers back into bed and leans into Oberon.

“Well,” he drops his smile. “Hopefully, me.”

Puck hums and shoves Oberon off the bed.

“Go and make me breakfast, lord.”

-

Oberon leans up against the wall, cell phone pressed between his cheek and shoulder. His hands were busy with a scrap of paper. He had checked and double-checked the number on it, and there it was, plain as day-7825- P-U-C-K.

His heart beat faster than it should have. No matter how many times they played this game, no matter how many ways Puck found him again- the sharp, harsh curve of his barista’s smile, the fortune that came after his cheap Chinese food, or this particular incident: the scrap of notebook paper on top of the wet clothes in the washer, perfectly curled and dry.

Oberon had stepped outside, under the sky, because he knew that Puck was always more willing to materialize outside of four walls. He was always fidgety and restless indoors, only still when asleep, and not for long, even then.

The phone rang once, twice, three times. 

Wiry arms wrapped around his waist and a mass of soft curls pressed into the underside of his chin. Oberon inhaled and pulled Puck inside and upstairs.

This was how it worked; whatever agreement they had managed to come up with: six months with Titania in Fairyland and six months in the mortal world with him. Usually Puck came searching, sometimes not. Sometimes he missed seasons in a row, and sometimes he didn’t miss a day for decades.

Oberon had settled into the human world two months ago. His home and bed had been cold since, but he didn’t mind— Puck, however warm and loving, was a fickle and nervous creature.

Puck was currently perched on the top of one of his bedposts, a mug of wildflower tea clutched in his hands. Oberon leaned against the headboard and looked up at him. 

“What’re you doing?”

Puck shrugged and stepped down, sitting halfway on top of Oberon. Oberon pulled him close and he melted into him, pliant and quiet, sipping his tea.

“Missed you.” Oberon admitted. Puck didn’t respond, but that was his way- quiet unless spoken to; rarely initiating touches; Oberon took all signs of affection from him as small blessings.

Puck hesitated, then shifted his weight just slightly so more of him was resting on Oberon. He took another sip of his tea and swished it around in his mouth.

-

For the most part, they live their lives separately. They go decades without seeing each other except for the occasional solstice, but mistletoe always grows over Oberon’s doorjambs at Yule. Sometimes when he steps under them, he smells damp earth and dew and rosemary and feels a brush of chapped lips against his cheek− he doesn’t know if Puck is doing it or if they are the ghostly imprints of mistletoe games long past.

Puck finds him first.

He shows up, perched on top of his refrigerator when Oberon returns home.

The noise he had made was quite unkingly indeed, and it sent Puck tumbling off and into Oberon with laughter.

He’s changed- he’s taller, lankier, and his skin is no longer tinged green. When Oberon cards his fingers through his hair, he finds no antlers or feathers hidden under his curls, but Puck refuses to speak about it. He wears shoes, sometimes, at least. There is still dirt under his fingernails and behind his ears.

They live together for seven years, in a small cabin on an island somewhere around Canada. It is too cold for Puck to be comfortable, even in the summer, but he loves the forest. Oberon agrees with him. He chose this place just because it reminded him of fairyland.

He comes home one day, arms loaded down with human groceries, and the house is empty once more. A small, bright green vine of ivy twists from one of their bedposts to the half-open window.

-

The next time, Oberon finds him. He’s living in a rainforest in South America, leaping from tree to tree, and touching the ground once a decade. The native people have stories about him, the golden-haired tree creature that takes their food and supplies and ties knots in their hair. 

Puck nearly doesn’t come down from an enormous kapok for him. It takes two days of constant talking until the light shifts and an annoyed, dirty face is looking down on him from thirty feet up. “God, you don’t give up, do you?” 

After a few seconds, a smile spreads across his face, and he opens his arms, and Puck sighs and jumps.

**Author's Note:**

> Its been a while and I definitely wrote this a year and a half ago but w/e lmao


End file.
